The Bitter End
by TheAlbacore
Summary: A oneshot, my first fanfic. Rated T for cutting, character dies, depression, etc. Sorry if it's terrible


Disclaimer: Unfortunately for me, I do not own any of J.K. Rowling's marvelous characters, but rather choose to use them as puppets.

--The Bitter End--

Hermione Granger sat in the first floor girls' washroom, examining her arm. She knew that no one would see her, since this was Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. Not a soul in their right mind ever came in there, unless they had a real reason to. She was completely isolated from everyone else.

Myrtle was currently absent, allowing Hermione to look over herself in peace. If Myrtle was ever in the bathroom, Hermione hid herself in one of the stalls and listened to Myrtle do what she did best -- cry. Myrtle's sobs were the music to Hermione's misery.

Her arm was covered in scars, some of them still healing. Sometimes, she wondered if she had really done it to herself. Most of the time it just seemed like a very strange dream, but then she would do it again and remind herself that it was only her.

The first few times, she felt pain tickle her skin and an odd tingling sensation as the blood streaked across her skin. This time, as she sliced her pale skin again and again, she felt nothing. The thrill, adrenaline rush that she used to get no longer existed, but she still remained addicted to it.

Hermione had excused herself from dinner that night, acting as if she was upset, which she was. Lavender Brown had said a rather nasty comment about her hair, and she couldn't help but run out. Every night, for the past month or so, she would find some way to get out of eating dinner. She skipped most of her meals, but occasionally picked at a few things.

She had lost a lot of weight. Her frame had already been thin, but some of her ribs were already easily visible -- without her baggy robes, of course. Lack of sleep had caused dark circles around her eyes, which she didn't even bother to cover up in the morning.

Though Ron and Harry continuously beseeched to tell them what was bothering her, she insisted that nothing was the matter and that she was purely growing up, as if it were all perfectly normal. She tried to ignore it, when she walked into a room and knew that they had been distinctly talking about her. She ignored the concerned stares she would get from almost every student and teacher. But most of all, she ignored the small voice in her mind telling her that she was wrong.

Blood trickled down her arm, and a few drops landed on the floor, which was covered in puddles. It mixed in slowly, making a strange, yet dazzling effect in the dirty water. When Hermione first noticed how wet the floors were, from the old, broken toilets, she was disgusted. She'd gotten used to it, though, and took some satisfaction in being able to see her reflection in it without a mirror.

A few more cuts were made, and after each she would use a simple charm -- one that she had just looked up for this occasion -- for her wounds to stop bleeding. She cleaned up the blood so no one suspected anything, just incase someone did end up accidentally coming into Myrtle's bathroom.

Quietly, she checked over her handiwork. She knew that they were scars, ones that would be there for the rest of her life, but she could do nothing about it.

Hermione slipped the steak knife, the one she'd stolen from the Great Hall a few years ago, into her standard black robe's pocket, and sat back down the puddle. She would dry her robes off with her wand when she was ready to leave.

The scars were deeper than usual, and Hermione figured that it was because Lavender had intentionally hurt her tonight. When she stormed out of the Great Hall on most nights, it was because someone had said the wrong thing. The ones caused by Malfoy were never as deep, since she knew Malfoy was a jerk. Lavender was nice to Hermione, most of the time, but lately she'd been cold towards her. Hermione wondered if it was jealous, because she was Ron's best friend, and a girl.

She shook the thoughts from her head. She didn't want to think about Ron one bit. Half of these were really his, but she could never think of telling him about it.

Slowly, she laid her head back on the wall and sighed. Closing her eyes, Ron's face came up in her mind. She felt a dash of hatred flow through her body, just before she heard the bathroom door open.

As fast as she could, before she even opened her eyes, she pulled her sleeve down and looked over at the person, who held an appalled look.

It was Malfoy.

"What are you doing here, Malfoy?" Hermione barked. _Just act normally._

Malfoy stood, in confusion, staring at Hermione's left arm. He blinked a couple of times, but finally spoke. "Granger, what… What happened to your arm?"

Hermione felt her eyes grow a tad larger than usual, but calmed herself. "What are you talking about?"

Malfoy stayed away, and continued staring. He seemed to piece everything together quickly, "Did -- did you do that to yourself?"

Hermione wanted the slap herself, or at least cut again, but she sat in complete silence, trying to think of some kind of believable lie. Malfoy would never forget this, or keep it a secret, espeically for her... Unless...

Hermione stood, much to Malfoy's surprise, and pulled out her wand. She marched forward and put the tip to his neck, gently touching the skin that was equally as pale as hers.

Malfoy didn't flinch. He didn't go for his wand. He stood, completely speechless, for a few seconds before whispering, "What are you doing?"

"I was going to kill you," Hermione admitted, "But I could never get away with such a deed. Instead, I'm going to use a memory charm. I'm sure you remember them, we learned them in class a few weeks ago. I was the first to master them. In moments, Malfoy, you won't remember any of this. Then, I'll stun you, and leave you out somewhere. Someone will find you, and you will be safe, but have forgotten this entire mishap."

"No!" Malfoy took a step back, but I followed him. "Everyone's returning from the Great Hall right now… If you try to do anything… I'll scream, and someone's bound to hear. They'll come in, and they'll see you, and everyone will know the disturbing truth about you."

Hermione felt more hatred, ten times what she felt towards Ron, sizzle inside of her. Her face burned with it, as she watched Malfoy's gray eyes dart about the room. Once or twice, they would move over to the door, but his body stayed put. She could see the fear in them.

"Not planning on escaping, are you Malfoy?" Hermione snapped, "I'll get you anyway. I've mastered all of this ages ago."

Malfoy must've realized that he was truly no match for Hermione. She felt a small amount of pride mix in with her buckets of hatred.

"I won't tell anyone," Malfoy began to beg. He promised many times not to say a single word. He told her how things would not change, how he would give her all his money, as long as she didn't hurt him.

Everyone knew that memory charms backfired. She could easily wipe out his entire memory with only a small mistake.

She raised an eyebrow. In his eyes, he looked pleased that she was considering it, but he hid it well on his face as he continued to look terrified. Hermione thought carefully. If Malfoy knew, it could change everything. Could they become friends? Could she confess everything that lied on her conscience to him? Would he listen, would there finally be one person who would be there for her?

"Did you mean that, what you said, about not telling -- not uttering a single word to even the smallest soul?" Hermione asked, no longer blinking, but looking directly at Malfoy. She lowered her wand. Malfoy backed away, and then turned to run.

"I would never make a promise to you!" Malfoy yelled in return, and within seconds was gone. Hermione had not reacted fast enough. He was gone, to share her terrible secret with the world.

For the first time in months, she felt salty, large tears plummet from her eyes and run down her face. She couldn't have everyone knowing, and she couldn't handle people knowing, staring at her, talking about her behind her back, thinking they knew her… Thinking she was a psycho.

She backed into the wall and buried her face into her hands, which had only a few cuts -- ones that were mistaken as caused by Crookshanks -- and wept. There was nothing left to do.

She felt the knife in her pocket, and hastily took it out. Did she have the courage to do this?

Thinking quickly, she began to motivate herself. "Malfoy's betrayed my trust." She slashed her arm.

"Ron doesn't love me."

Another cut, deeply made.

"Harry doesn't notice anything."

Another.

"I have no real friends."

And another.

For every pain in her life, she made another cut. She was adding to the already heavy amount, until she found the worst of all, the one she had been saving.

"Everyone cares for Harry. Ron has his family, all seven of them, caring for him. Everyone has someone, except me." She put the knife to her wrist, "Not my parents. They think I'm a freak, they are afraid, they stopped caring long ago, much like everyone else."

She slashed, and for the first time, she felt pain run up her arm, through her entire body, and finally release.

Slowly, the blood, filled with her memories, love, hate, and even the lack of pride drained from her body, eventually leaving her body lifeless, and her soul heavy with guilt.


End file.
